


Heavy Metal Thunder

by bohemeyourself



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemeyourself/pseuds/bohemeyourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky fuck on Steve's motorcycle. Domesticity and feelings are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Metal Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](http://selfmadesuperhero.tumblr.com/post/84388184259/whatever-this-looks-pretty-gross-but-at-least-i) by [selfmadesuperhero](http://selfmadesuperhero.tumblr.com/). I literally just got home from the movie, and I was having feelings already about Bucky's arm and not letting Steve touch it when I saw the art, and then words happened. 
> 
> I almost titled this fic with "Shut Up and Drive" lyrics, but Steppenwolf seemed more appropriate.

It took them a long time to get to this point. 

Bucky has issues letting Steve touch the arm or even go near it during sex. He treats it like it doesn’t exist. Bucky will stop or grab Steve’s hand (with his right, of course) whenever Steve goes near it. He can’t articulate why yet, but he’s apologized profusely and Steve knows how hard it is, and he knows Bucky’s trying, he really is. 

So one afternoon Steve’s in the garage, working on the bike when Bucky comes out, wearing nothing but sweats with a laundry basket under his arm. 

“Hey there good lookin,” Steve says. 

“Hey yourself,” Bucky returns, setting the basket on top of the dryer. “How’s she coming?”

“Good, good. Running much better. Quieter.”

Bucky snorts. “I’m sure the neighbors will appreciate that.” He transfers the wash to the dryer, loads the contents of the basket into the machine. Steve watches the flex of muscle, the curve of his neck. “You almost done?”

“Almost. You wanna join me for a test ride?” Steve swings a leg over the seat and sits, nodding to the space behind him.

“I’m not dressed,” Bucky says, looking down at himself. “But I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky steps forward and kisses Steve, who raises a hand to hold him there for a sec, just a light hand on Bucky’s jaw. Bucky hums and bends further. 

When they first started this, after they were both healed enough to focus on other things, Bucky had been reserved, shrunken in on himself. He was so tentative, a stranger in his own body, like he was re-learning how to touch someone and not inflict pain. 

But now, Bucky’s gotten more comfortable. He melts into Steve’s embraces, soft lips familiar, his skin warm, always so warm. Bucky’s lips part for him and Steve dives in, hoping making it fast and dirty will change Bucky’s mind. 

When they part, they’re both breathless.

“I left Frodo running,” Bucky pants. 

It takes Steve a minute to remember Bucky was watching Lord of the Rings when he left him for the garage. 

“It’s a DVD. You can go back.”

Bucky’s eyebrows twitch up, then he smirks. “Well, in that case,” Bucky says. He swings his leg up, high enough to clear the handlebars. Steve has just enough time to plant his feet better and make a grab for Bucky’s waist to steady him, and then he’s got a lapful of half-naked former soldier. 

“You know, most passengers ride behind the driver.” Steve goes for light, snarky as usual and misses. 

“Who said you’re driving,” Bucky says, kissing Steve before he can form a response. Steve briefly imagines this going horribly, and then Bucky reaches up and threads his fingers through Steve’s hair, tugging just a bit. All of the thoughts in Steve’s head that aren’t ‘oh hell yes’ evaporate.

Steve grabs Bucky’s hips, bringing them closer together. Bucky’s hard already, his cock a hot brand through the sweatpants. Bucky breaks the kiss to pant, hips rocking against Steve, seeking friction. Bucky is nothing but hot skin and bitten-off noises, and Steve wants to touch him all over, make him gasp and moan and beg Steve for more. 

Steve kisses a line down his throat, hands wandering to span the width of his lower back, then up, careful to stop before his hands find the place where flesh meets metal. Bucky doesn’t stop when Steve’s hand gets close. He moves the arm, yes, to grip the handlebar behind him, using the leverage to grind against Steve. But he’s not stopping, and Steve is suddenly acutely aware that they are _fucking on his motorcycle_.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve pants, gripping his hips again before abandoning that to get his hands in Bucky’s sweats. Bucky’s cock is hot, heavy in his hand, slick at the tip already. The hand in his hair tightens, and Steve swallows the curse that leaves Bucky’s lips before he can parse what language it is.

Steve jacks him faster, grip tight, but little finesse. He’s looking for end game, because even super-soldiers have their limits, and it’s only a matter of time before the bike goes toppling over. Steve sucks on Bucky’s tongue, and Bucky comes with a startled grunt, come pulsing over Steve’s fist. 

Bucky rests his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, just breathing for a few minutes. Bucky’s come is cooling on his hand, and Steve wipes it on Bucky’s sweats. 

“Jerk,” Bucky says, glancing down at the mess.

Bucky dismounts (gracefully, the bastard), strips his sweats off, shoves them in the washer and hits the start button. Bucky smirks at him over his shoulder, heading for the door back into the house.

“You still going for that ride?”

Steve’s own slide off the bike is less graceful, but he crosses the garage in two steps, catching up to Bucky in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m riding something, that’s for sure.”


End file.
